Part 16 (2/2)

”Allow me,” said Rufus, picking up the half cocoanut sh.e.l.l which was chained to the wood. ”Let's make a loving-cup of it. I'm thirsty, too.”

He held the cup while Pete pumped the water over it, and finally shaking off the clinging drops offered it to the guest.

Geraldine made good her words. An inward fever of excitement was burning in her veins. The proximity of this man caused her always the same panic. Oh, what was meant by those written words of the sunny-eyed, upstanding young knight who had obeyed her so reluctantly? Now it was her turn to obey him, and she must see to it that no suspicion of Carder's should prevent her.

When she had drunk every drop, Rufus took a few sips--he had not much use for water--and they returned to the house together.

When Mrs. Carder and Pete had sent the hired men afield, the three sat down to breakfast as usual, and Rufus, moved by the guest's transparent appearance and downcast eyes, played unconsciously into her hands.

”This is great weather, Geraldine,” he said. ”You don't want to mope in the house. You want to spend a lot o' time outdoors. I'll take you out driving whenever you want to go.”

Geraldine lifted her eyes to his--the eyes with the drooping, pensive corners deepened by dark lashes which Miss Upton had tried to describe.

”I think I'm not feeling very strong, Mr. Carder,” she said listlessly.

”Long drives tire me.”

”Long walks will tire you more,” he answered, instantly suspicious.

”Yes, I don't feel equal to them now,” she answered, her grave glance dropping again to her plate.

He regarded her with a troubled frown.

”That hammock chair and a hammock will be out to-day,” he said. ”I'll put 'em under the elm you're so stuck on, and I guess we can scare up some books for you to read.”

Geraldine's heart began to quicken and she put a guard upon her manner lest eagerness should crop out in spite of her.

”It is early for shade,” she replied. ”The sun is pleasant. Everything is so bare about here,” she added wearily. ”I wish I could find some flowers.”

Then it was that Mrs. Carder, poor dumb automaton, volunteered a remark; and the most silver-tongued orator could not have better pleased Geraldine with eloquence.

”Used to be quite a lot grow down in the medder,” she said.

Geraldine's heart beat like a little triphammer, but she did not look up from her plate, nor change her listless expression.

”I'd like to go and see if there are any,” she said. ”I love them. Where is the meadow?”

”Oh, it's just that swale to the right of the driveway,” said Rufus.

”It's low ground, and I s'pose the wild flowers do like it. I hope the cows haven't taken them all. You needn't be afraid o' the cows.”

”No, I'm not,” replied Geraldine. ”Perhaps I'll go some time.”

”Go to-day, go while the goin's good,” urged Rufus. ”Never can tell when the rain will keep you in. You shall have a flower garden, Geraldine.

You tell me where you'd like it and I'll have the ground got ready right off.”

”Thank you,” she answered, ”but I like the wild flowers best.”

As soon as the dishes were dried, Geraldine went up to her room and delved into her little trunk. She brought out a white cotton dress. It had not been worn since the summer before, and though clean it was badly wrinkled. She took it down to the kitchen and ironed it.

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